It'll probably never happen

We've seen it so often: Heath in the early 1970s, Callaghan in the late 1970s, Major in the mid-1990s. They tug at the levers of power, and nothing happens. The down express is heading for disaster. "Switch the points!" someone yells. Ministers pull those levers. The train careers on. The levers come off in their hands.

The difference is that in this 24-hour news culture they always have an excuse. Not a result, an excuse. The train is a mangled wreck. There are low moans from the overturned carriages. On the radio a government spokesman is saying that he will hear nothing against the brave engine driver, loyal train crew, and so forth.

Yesterday they talked about the government's insurance scheme for bank loans. Apparently it is a wonderful plan, and will soon have the economy roaring away. But then Ken Clarke, in his first appearance at question time as shadow business minister, inquired in his squeaky roar why no business seemed remotely aware of the deal, and nobody could find any banks that were actually operating it. Instead of thrashing around in a panic, why hadn't the government introduced a similar scheme some months ago, and fast?

I feel sorry for Mr Clarke. His real opponent is Lord Mandelson, who cannot appear in the Commons. We would love to see that contest. But it's as if a fighting bull discovered that the star toreador was in a different arena. Instead they have sent him Mr Magoo, equipped with a suit of lights and a rubber sword. Poor Ian Pearson, Mandelson's Commons understrapper, simply cannot cope with the onslaught.

Later, the bull, who unlike most Spanish bulls had survived his first corrida unscathed, wanted to know why the government simply didn't get on with it. There was a need for "urgency, efficiency and competence ... British business cannot afford further delay and uncertainty!"

As always, he got a feeble response - this time from another understrapper, Pat McFadden - who claimed the Tories would do even worse. Perhaps they would. But so what? The sense that it is all too much for ministers is becoming pervasive. This is a country largely built on salt and surrounded by sand. Yet we don't have enough grit for the roads.

Alan Duncan, the shadow leader of the house, moved from camp to crosspatch, when he pointed out that Downing Street had, this week, flown the union flag upside down - a signal of distress. (Though only a flag anorak could tell the difference.) The budget was, we were told, to be delayed. Were ministers about to copy Iceland, and simply pack up in despair?

David Heath, for the Lib Dems, said that nothing the prime minister promises actually happens. Energy companies were told to reduce prices, but they didn't. Banks were instructed to increase loans and stop paying bonuses but they carried on regardless. "May we have a debate on why it appears that nobody takes a blind bit of notice of what the prime minister says?"

Of course not. If Gordon Brown asked for it, it probably wouldn't even happen.